


Trembling Roses

by Goldy



Category: Firefly
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another “Inara-deals-with-life-post-Serenity” fic. Complete with incoherent flashbacks, hooray!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trembling Roses

The rose trembles.

She traces the path with her eyes. From the rose, to the hand, to the arm, shaking, like it’s his very first date. (It very well could be.) The other arm he holds behind his back, keeping his posture formal, erect.

On his feet are heavy, black boots—a symbol of wealth in a time like theirs. Though the war is nearly over, they will face heavy rationing for some time. Such items are luxuries.

She takes the rose, fingering one of the petals—nervous herself, but attempting to conceal it.

Unlike him, she doesn’t shake.

“Miss Serra, I would be… it is delightful to…”

She ends his babbling by sliding her arm into his. “No, the pleasure is mine.”

***

They’re going for a hayride.

She honestly hadn’t known that such things existed. However, she wisely abstains from sharing that with Mal, as he goes on about the hayride like it’s the greatest adventure she’s likely to experience.

“Oh, yeah, was a right spot for most of us back on Shadow,” he says. “Had my first kiss up in one of ‘em.”

“Your first kiss?” Inara said. “Just what exactly are you expecting from this hayride, Captain?”

That shuts him up.

Which is rather unfortunate, she reflects, realizing too late that she wants to hear more about his life on Shadow.

***

Her first week at the training house, she drinks too much tea. Green tea. She sits at her desk, empty instruction notes set out in front of her, mug of tea sitting near her right hand. She stares out at the view, trying not to think at all.

After that first week, it slowly becomes easier to focus. She has girls to teach, proper methods to immerse herself in. Times of fanciful notions are long past.

If the girls talk about pirates and spaceships, she ignores them.

***

It certainly _is_ a date of some kind. Though how it came about is still somewhat of a mystery to her. She thinks it involves some sort of card game and a gamble, with perhaps a little too much whiskey on both their parts.

But—oh, it’s mortifying, this embarrassing, fluttering in her stomach, their inability to look at each other properly.

She wants him to take her hand.

He doesn’t.

*

Inara has straw in her hair and skin peeling on her nose. A few more hours, she is sure, and there will be a line of freckles dotting her nose.

“Yep,” Mal says, entirely too cheerfully. “Not as fun as I remembered.”

The carriage hits a particularly deep pothole and Inara’s teeth slam down on her bottom lip.

Certainly _not_ her finest hour.

Mal smirks and leans back, nodding at a group of young teens, their brimming straw hats hiding their faces. Inara’s eyes linger on them longingly.

She thinks she would look cute in a straw hat.

*

“So, pub?”

Mal has his thumbs tugging idly at his suspenders, the slightly nervous grin on his face betraying the too-casual tone of his voice.

She tries to swallow passed the dryness in her throat. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper, “I want to go back.”

Mal glances at her. “What?”

She rubs her bare arms, suddenly freezing despite the heat. It’s the sunburn making her like this. Stupid to go out without proper protection. Stupid, stupid. (But how many times has Inara Serra gone for a hayride on a dusty rim moon?)

“Let’s just go back to the ship,” she says.

She tries to ignore the way his face falls.

***

She lets one hand drift idly over the console, leaving a handprint in the dust.

Lights from the console blink over her face, and a small hum tells her Serenity’s engine is humming under her feet.

Otherwise, it is dark, dark and cold—and silent, silent in a way she’s never felt before. Her forehead droops down, resting on the console, and she slowly relaxes her shoulders, breathing deeply.

She could fall into the panic. Here she is, fish out of water, on a ship full of criminals, with a captain she’s already managed to alienate. A Sihnon Companion traveling out to the rim… it will be dangerous, there is no denying that.

Her fingers nimbly curve her hair back over her ear, and she lets her touch linger, somehow soothed. She will be fine. She will do her job. She will build up her client base and visit new worlds and ingratiate herself with the crew.

She twirls around in her chair, letting her elbows rest on the console, and her eyes scan the shuttle. Yes, it will do.

***

It’s not so much a knock as it is a warning. “Inara—”

Followed by the slight sucking of breath, and the hardening of eyes.

She feels absurdly shameful, like she’s betrayed him or snuck around behind his back. She almost opens her mouth to defend herself ( _this isn’t what it looks like_ ), but it’s exactly what it looks like, and the thought makes her feel tired. She sinks down to sit on the edge of her bed, suddenly uncertain she’ll be able to get back to her feet.

“What the hell is this?”

It’s a fair question.

This morning, there they were, riding on the back of horse-drawn carriages, nearly frolicking at the thought of a hayride. And now…

“It’s… I’m…” she trails off, utterly failing at finding words to cushion the blow, explain her reasoning. “It’s what it looks like. I’m packing.”

She thinks one of his eyebrows gives an imperceptible tick. If this were any other time, she would have laughed.

“Why?”

That time she does laugh. “Please, Mal, isn’t it obvious?”

She’s hurting him unnecessarily.

He looks stung, and doesn’t even bother with a retort.

She cradles her face in her hands, her cheeks feeling warm and dry, lips chapped and parched. What happened to her today? It’s so unlike her, making such hasty decisions. Hayrides, almost kisses, now—packing, leaving without even taking the time to deliberate.

She feels Mal’s arm around her shoulders, one of his hands drawing her arms back from her face. His touch is warm, and she sighs. In all honesty, she’d expected him to leave.

“I should’a known,” he says, voice surprisingly gentle. “Come on now, ‘Nara, we’re going to the infirmary. Reckon you can walk?”

*

He won’t touch her. Just hands her the aloe lotion and stands close while she applies it. Her skin is burning, but her teeth chatter, and she is cold inside. The lotion helps dull the worst of the fire.

He won’t touch her, but his breath is warm against her cheek when he hands her a glass of water and tells her to take slow, steady sips.

She tells him to stop talking to her like she’s an imbecile. She’s been around long enough to know how to handle a little sunburn.

He gives her a strained smile, and doesn’t answer.

*

“Mal?”

She cradles the water in her lap, and raises her head.

“I don’t really want to leave Serenity.”

He smiles, eyes softening. He takes the water off her lap, and hugs her—gently, like her head is likely to burst from too much pressure. (She has to admit, it feels like it might).

Hugging is nice.

She cradles her forehead somewhere between his neck and shoulder.

“You’ll feel better soon, ‘Nara,” he finally says, voice gravelly sounding. “Just as soon as the Doc gets back. Get some salt and fluids in you.”

It occurs to Inara that he’s scarcely seen her injured or ill at all. _Yes_ , she thinks, _see how you like it._

She closes her eyes.

*

When she wakes up, there’s something hanging out of her arm. A long tube, filled with bronze liquid. She raises her eyes, and sees Simon staring at her, soft smile on his face.

“IV drip,” he whispers.

“Oh,” she says. Like it all makes perfect sense.

There’s a warm pressure on her hand, and she follows the path of her bed sheets, eyes landing on Kaylee’s warm smile.

“Hey you,” she says. “Welcome back.”

Inara lifts her head slightly and sees Jayne leaning in the doorway. He gives a nod, and she tries for a slight wave.

“Was I out long?” Inara says, yawning.

“No,” Kaylee whispers. “Just heat stroke. Gave some of us a big scare, though.”

She nods behind her, where Mal and Zoe are conversing in low tones. At her gaze, Mal looks up, breaking into a smile.

“Hey,” he says, coming over and placing one hand on her forehead, fingers scratching at her hair. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she says, yawning again. “Simon, wha’s in tha’ IV?”

“Really good things,” Simon says.

“Tha’s not an answer,” Inara says. She finds Mal’s gaze, and gives him a dopey smile. “I’m sorry I ruined our date.”

“Hey, no, you had to do that elegant passing out thing,” he says. “Plenty of time for other dates. In less public, less sunny areas.”

“Tha’s sounds nice,” she whispers.

He brushes her hair back. “Get some rest.”

***

She waves Sheydra every few months and thinks about nervous young men with roses and giggly girls with bright eyes and eager smiles.

But things are okay.

They don’t try hayrides again. Instead there are late nights in the galley, soft words as they walk along the catwalk, arms brushing. He helps her redecorate the shuttle, and they avoid talking about the harder things.

They kiss for the first time shortly after she regains consciousness in the infirmary—quick, hesitant, a little too brief. After that, she loses track of the kisses, soft ones, harder ones, the ones before and after jobs.

Things are okay.

She retrieves her things from the training house and packs them in boxes, shoves them under her bed, tapes them shut.

If she feels a pang, she tells herself it’s because Mal’s out on a job.

***

She doesn’t think about packing again until a few years later. It’s been building in her for some time, of course. A… restlessness, a yearning for more, a need to see other things.

“But, ‘Nara, Serenity’s your home,” Kaylee says, eyes betraying her hurt.

“Oh, mei-mei, it’s not like before,” Inara says. “I’m not running away, there’s just…”

There’s so much out there to do.

She misses the people of her old life, of floating into rooms and getting to know others, finding out what makes them tick, what they care about. It’s a quiet form of manipulation, and she was the best. She thinks she could make a good politician. Or social worker. Or teacher. Or any of a million things she’ll never get a chance to do if she stays on Serenity.

It surprises her that Mal is so understanding. She expected to leave with only the vague hope of one day reconciling. But if he’s angry, he keeps it inside.

“It ain’t like before,” Mal says. “Still criminals, of course, that won’t change. But the Tams…”

“You’ll be able to visit,” Inara says, understanding. “You’ll be able to come visit.”

He nods. “If that’s what you want. Don’t know what your plans are, if you’re planning on going back to…”

“No,” she says quickly, relieved, so relieved. “There won’t be anyone else. I mean, not as long as you… I mean, I don’t want…” She struggles, and then finally gives in. “I’ll miss you so much.”

He gets a particularly pinched look on his face, and Inara knows he wants desperately to tell her not to go. Instead, he touches the palm of his hand to her cheek, then her shoulder, and finally pulls her into a hug.

“You never fit in this life the way the rest of us did,” he whispers. “Don’t think I didn’t see that. Reckon it’s good for you, getting out in the ‘verse… doin’ your own thing.”

He finally releases her and takes a step back. Inara straightens out her dress, and tries to hold back her tears.

“I won’t be gone forever, Mal,” she finally says. “I… this isn’t an end, you know.”

It’s as close as she’ll get to a promise.  



End file.
